


Yeah

by Anefi



Series: Young Blood [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, D/s elements, Domestic, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Minor Praise Kink, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, PWP, Rough Sex, Top Derek, minor breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anefi/pseuds/Anefi
Summary: Derek never had these kinds of impulses before he was an alpha.





	Yeah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impalafortrenchcoats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalafortrenchcoats/gifts).



> HAPPY VERY LATE BIRTHDAY YOU ADORABLE LITTLE MENACE!!!
> 
> Many thanks to allourheroes for beta, ZERO THANKS for INSTIGATING, any remaining mistakes are my fault BUT EVERYTHING ELSE IS AT LEAST PARTLY THEIRS
> 
> This fits in the Young Blood series, but stands alone.

It was a sun-drenched afternoon with a pile of teenagers in his loft, when Stiles started to laugh, probably at something stupid—Derek hadn’t been paying attention before Stiles had his head thrown back, chest heaving with laughter, eyes closed and mouth opened wide, so wide.

Gods, Derek thought, stunned, I could almost—

He tore his eyes away and frowned down at the book in his lap, but it was too late. The first fragile bloom of the thought was there, already burrowing through his mind with invasive roots.

Derek never had these kinds of impulses before he was an alpha.

Later, tidying in the long shadows when the building was quiet, he crowded up behind Stiles as he rinsed dishes in the sink. He put his nose to the soft fringe of hair at his nape, fit his teeth against soft skin, tugged Stiles’s hips flush with his, trapped him against the counter. Stiles laughed, a bright bubble of surprise that eased into a simmer, eyes half-lidded and luminous in the low light, and Derek wanted to ruin him. His teeth pressed in. The gentle scrape of his claws across the sheltered skin where jeans were riding low on his hips made Stiles’s breath catch, had him melting closer. “Oh, yeah?”

Derek let his hands answer for him first, slipped his claws beneath the waistband of Stiles’s boxers, traced the soft lower curve of his stomach. His hitching inhale was loud in the quiet room. With a last little bite of his teeth, Derek nosed along Stiles’s neck to the hollow behind his ear, breathed in the rich, ripening smell of him. Stiles’s heart rate had picked up up, blood fluttering shallow beneath Derek’s lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured. A plate clattered as Stiles dropped it back into the sink. Derek’s other hand skimmed up Stiles’s side, over the ladder of his rib cage. He rubbed across the stiffening peak of a nipple through the worn fabric of Stiles’s shirt, and Stiles whined low, spread his legs just a little, like he couldn’t help it, as if he didn’t know it made Derek crazy, and dropped his head back onto Derek’s shoulder in surrender. “Good,” Derek said, and Stiles shivered against him, goosebumps rising on his neck. “Good,” he repeated, lower, rough. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of Stiles’s head, then leaned back to watch his throat work as he scraped the pads of his fingers across the hot ridge of his nipple. The wet noises of Stiles’s mouth were even louder than the rush of his heart as he swallowed. Derek knew his mouth would be pink and obscene if he looked at it, mindlessly open, tongue tracing his lips, and his thoughts had his own breath coming harder, his hips rocking against Stiles’s ass, the hard press of his dick teasing them both.

Stiles gasped again, swallowed hard. One hand was braced against the counter, but the other clung to Derek’s forearm like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Derek,” he managed. “Derek—”

Derek skimmed his hand below the elastic of Stiles’s boxers, lower through the wiry hair, and wrapped around his dick. “Mmm,” he acknowledged as Stiles moaned. “Let me hear you.” Stiles’s hips jerked, chasing the slide and pressure that Derek ruthlessly denied, just holding him, savoring the anticipation, the control.

“You can fuck me right here,” Stiles babbled. “Right here on the counter, hold me down, get my jeans off, there’s lube in the cabinet, you could—Derek!” His dick was throbbing in Derek’s hand, hot with a sheen of sweat and more, slick at the head when Derek’s palm slid over it.

The counter was a dark stone, cold, polished smooth. Derek lifted Stiles’s shirt up just enough to shock his skin against it when he bent him over. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you,” Derek mused as Stiles moaned. “Hands behind your back,” he ordered. “Stay.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from wiggling, but Derek allowed it, since he liked the way it dragged Stiles’s sensitive nipples against the stone, how the abuse made him whine. He shucked Stiles’s jeans and boxers down his legs, but left them tangled around his ankles. Stiles whined again when he tried to spread his legs further and couldn’t. Derek had to stand back for a moment and admire the smooth expanse of his skin, dotted with moles, back heaving as he gasped for air. His strong, scarred hands were clenching and unclenching right where Derek had left them, above his long legs and pert little ass. Derek lifted off his own shirt and folded it on the counter. He stepped in close again and splayed a warm palm in the middle of Stiles’s trembling back, a reassurance and a claim that Stiles arched up into. “I’m not going to fuck you open,” he said. “I’m too close to knotting.”

Stiles went very still under Derek’s palm, then shuddered all over and groaned. “Let me see it,” he begged. He was licking his lips again, wriggling for friction against the counter, and Derek was only mostly human.

One of Stiles’s finer qualities that used to drive Derek absolutely up the wall was how if he was prevented from shoving anything in his mouth for even a few minutes, he would take increasingly desperate measures to get his lips around literally anything. Clothing, writing utensils, can tabs, bits of plastic like a goddamned cat—nothing was safe. When Derek flipped Stiles around and stood him up, his tongue and teeth had been worrying at his lips so much they were red and swollen as they got after half an hour of kissing with Derek’s stubble at its sharpest, bitten almost badly enough to bleed.

Derek groaned. “Your _mouth_ , Stiles.”

Stiles was already flushed, but his eyes went even darker and his tongue licked out again. “Oh my god, is that what you’ve been thinking about?” He swayed into Derek’s space, hungry for contact, but Derek caught him by the back of the neck and stepped away, pushed him down, and Stiles dropped to his knees instead. “That seems like a yes,” he said, muffled into the jeans over Derek’s thigh.  

He rubbed his nose against the fabric and huffed in greedy breaths, hands forgotten behind his back, his cheek soft against the length of Derek's bulge. He turned into it, open mouth wet as he sucked in air through the denim.

Derek pushed him off one hand and wrenched open his jeans with the other. Inevitably, infuriatingly, Stiles licked his lips again, panting, fixated on Derek’s dick bobbing in the air in front of him. Derek gritted his teeth and gave himself a few strokes, almost snarled when his hand brushed the base where the knot was just barely starting to swell, hot and tight.

“You think I could take it?” Stiles asked.

Derek’s fingers tightened in his hair. “I think I could make you.”

Stiles’s whole body shivered, and Derek knew it wasn’t because he was cold. His mouth fell open on another shaking breath. “Yeah,” he whispered. His soft pink tongue darted out, and the last bastion of Derek’s resolve was crumbling to dust. Stiles made eager little noises as his lips and tongue were directed to the head of Derek’s cock, and then he was inside, engulfed in the hungry warmth of Stiles’s mouth. He pushed deeper in a long, slow slide as Stiles’s tongue struggled against the underside of his dick. Hands firm on the back of Stiles’s head, he slid inside until Stiles’s lips were spreading around the sensitive rise of the swell. He held there, the tip of his dick nudged just into his airway, and Stiles went beet red and fever-bright as his throat worked. Derek let up enough for him to wheeze a breath or two, petted his cheek, his throat, and shoved him down again.

The urge to pop his knot was like a heavy tension, a possessive burn he could barely control.

“Hands,” he said hoarsely, “put your hands on it.”

He could write sonnets to Stiles’s hands. His fingers were long and strong and elegant, but what made them so captivating was the raw energy, the twitchy confidence that sometimes Stiles forgot to second-guess. Freed from behind his back, they settled around Derek’s knot, slightly chilly, pale against the throbbing, angry red. The first whispers of touch were more of a tease, but Derek’s patience was rewarded at the first tentative press.

It wasn’t anything like touching it himself, on the rare occasions he knotted alone. It wasn’t anything like fucking Stiles, either. Buried in the tight clutch of Stiles’s ass, keeping and claiming as Stiles jerked and cried out and shuddered safe in his arms smugly satisfied all his instincts down to the most primal level. This, the wet slide of Stiles’s mouth and throat and heavy tongue, felt selfish. But Stiles was giving it to him anyway.

Stiles’s breathing was labored as he fought for air around Derek’s dick, but the way his lips strained pink around the wide rise of the knot, the little determined sounds high in his throat, his dazed arousal, were igniting all of Derek’s darker impulses to shove himself in further, to force him down, to take even more. “Stiles,” he warned, but deft fingers massaged the swollen base, incautious of danger as he always was, and Derek’s claws scraped gently through his hair as the surge of pleasure made his eyelids flutter. “Stiles,” he groaned, and Stiles hummed in agreement.  

Free from the distraction of direct prostate stimulation Stiles usually experienced with Derek’s knot, all of his formidable attention was focused on touching, exploring, on taking apart this new puzzle, on taking Derek apart. His clever hands stroked and tightened, sliding in the mix of spit and pre-come that was dripping down Derek’s shaft. On every heavy breath, Derek lost himself further in the dizzying fog of Stiles’s arousal. As he traced his thumb across Stiles’s smooth cheek to soothe the brimming tears, he felt a warm, fierce glow at having the privilege, that this, that Stiles, was his.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Just like that. Pull off if you have to,” but Stiles just moaned around him, doubled down, held him close and hot and perfect. The knot swelled huge in Stiles’s hands, angry red, demanding, but he kept it locked, kept Derek from choking him on it, eyes closed in bliss, blindly trusting, as Derek hunched over him, seized up, and came for what felt like forever.

Stiles tried to swallow at first, but caught between the relentless dick in his mouth and the iron cage of Derek’s hand on the back of his head,  he choked, tried to cough, and thick come started leaking out the cracked corners of his lips, spilling in drips down his chin, onto his chest. At some point he dropped a hand down and worked himself to a desperate finish, whined as the musky scent of his release made Derek groan and surge into him, smeared his come against Derek’s throbbing knot as he locked it down again.

When it was over, Derek was wavering on his feet, knees locked, one elbow braced on the counter. He clumsily patted Stiles’s cheek as his dick finally slipped free. “You did so well, Stiles. So good. I can’t believe that you actually—”

Stiles pressed a tired kiss to Derek’s thigh, smearing the wiry hair with spit and come. “ _Yeah_ I did,” he cheered weakly. He sat back and stretched his arms, his neck. His voice was wrecked, fucked-out and gravelly. He put a hand to his throat and winced. “I’m gonna need an ice pack, though, I think.” As he opened his mouth wide, wider, stretched his jaw to work out the stiffness, Derek could only stare, helplessly transfixed.

He felt his dick twitch.

This might become a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t worry about the dishes; Derek finished them later.
> 
> Come say hi and/or prompt me [on tumblr](anefan.tumblr.com)!


End file.
